


like i used to feel you breathe

by nextstopparis



Series: honey, i love you [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode Related, Episode: s05e01 Arthur's Bane, Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextstopparis/pseuds/nextstopparis
Summary: This close, Arthur fills enough of his senses to make an Arthur-less world far enough away to be insignificant and ignorable.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: honey, i love you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843912
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	like i used to feel you breathe

**Author's Note:**

> this is 110% self indulgent and based off of taylor swift's "epiphany". the idea has been plaguing my mind for a good two weeks now, and I really wanted to get it out before university started. (title comes from "last kiss") (it's really hard _not_ relating all her songs to otps... ya know?)
> 
> the lyrics "watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out" and "with you I serve, with you I fall down", especially, carried the weight of this idea. all of the other page break-like things were other lyrics that I couldn't hear without thinking of merthur. also, they're not in any particular order/don't follow the song.

“I swear I’m going to rescue my men. Or die trying.'' Arthur's voice is low and steady, soft and strong in a way only a king’s voice can be. Still, the words ring in Merlin’s ears and shake him to his core. The fear is so palpable, so unbearable, that he can barely breathe.

“And I swear to protect you, or die at your side.” He makes sure to keep the shake out of his voice, to look Arthur in the eyes unwaveringly, because in this he needs his king to understand his conviction. Merlin may not agree with the journey - this is _Arthur_ \- but for everything he is unsure of, it is this he knows for certain: that Arthur is his priority; his king, his best friend, his—

The possibility of losing him is—unthinkable. 

And so Merlin watches himself get quietly thanked with a companionable slap that he cannot bring himself to feel. He watches Arthur settle down again, and follows him so as not to look suspicious. How could Arthur ever understand the agonizing fear, the numbing anxiety that courses through his veins every time he closes his eyes? Every time that seer’s vision flashes across the back of his eyelids? 

**[with you i serve]**

_When Merlin calls down lightning for the second time in his life, it’s almost freeing. He knows now that Arthur is watching him; knows that this is it. After this, Arthur will know him completely._

_He sends Aithusa away—full of anger and regret—and pushes Morgana back, away, cutting off her enraged scream. The aging spell doesn’t even hum at the back of his head—as if it’s not there at all. He briefly wonders why he even bothered with it; for all he knew, it would’ve hindered him, tired him far too much to make any of his magic effective. He had felt different, leaving the cave, but still. This is important, he should’ve known better than to take the chance._

_And then he looks down, making eye contact with his king, his friend, his—_

_Catching Arthur's small nod of thanks, returning it with one of his own, his reasoning suddenly comes back in an overwhelming cascade. This is Arthur, and Arthur deserves better than to learn about something so important and intimate like this—from a distance, with everyone else, in the middle of a battle._

_He wants to tell Arthur privately, show him in warm colours and soft shapes. Not in battle fields with crackling lightning, but in the quiet buzz of the forest with small, harmless sparks of fire._

_And so he lets the moment pass, watches Arthur and the knights plow forward, and helps them in every way he can._

_He has waited ten years, he can tolerate one more day._

**[somethings you just can’t speak about]**

Resting on his back, Merlin ignores the crunch of the frozen, dry grass beneath him, staring up at the half-visible canopy of the sky. The piece of earth they’d rested under blocks half the view, but from what he does see, it is a cloudy night. 

Arthur isn’t asleep, and neither is he, but they both pretend not to know. Merlin wonders if the king is scared for tomorrow, but is too afraid, himself, to ask. It is unfair of him to rely on Arthur so heavily, but if the king were to admit even a sliver of doubt, Merlin knows his hesitant support of the mission will crumble; that he will move heaven and hell in order to keep Arthur away from this journey.

It’s illogical, perhaps, to rely on the prat’s sheer bullheadedness to defy the prophecy. To believe that Arthur will survive by virtue of simply refusing to die, to bend to destiny’s will. But that is all he has left to grasp, all that is keeping him quiet with no other requests to turn back, and so Merlin lets the silence stretch. Doesn’t ask how Arthur feels, doesn’t question whether this is more about honour, or genuine belief that they will succeed. 

The cool winter air stings the inside of his nostrils, and Merlin only hesitates a second before closing his eyes again.

**[with you i fall down]**

_The unfairness of it is only a background ache, dulled by shock and utter dread for something else—something bigger._

_It‘s unfair because the sky isn’t red in warning. It‘s unfair because they are between two hills, not on a flat battlefield. It‘s unfair because every little detail that‘s different is what he’s been looking out for all these months, what he had been relying on to warn him well in advance._

_He knew. He_ knew _to watch out for Mordred. That if there was any time the vision would manifest itself it would be then—and yet still, he let his focus wander. Let his attention stray to other soldiers who weren’t Mordred, knights who weren’t Arthur. All because the godforsaken sky wasn’t red, and so he didn’t even think to figure out what was coming until it was already done._

 _Seeing Arthur's body, prone and still against the rocks, is enough to cause his knees to buckle. He lets out a startled, strangled breath, as though he’d been punched. This_ can’t be _—_

_He rushes down to where the main battle had been. The ground is littered with bodies, but Merlin doesn’t care—can’t bring himself to even notice—doesn’t dare take his eyes off of Arthur. Arthur who‘s breathing, but only just. Arthur who might just stop the second Merlin looks away from him, as if his stare, alone, is enough to keep someone so dear—so lovely and important and larger than life—alive._

_He reaches Arthur's body with no recollection of actually getting there. Cupping his face and checking his pulse, Merlin collapses next to him. He wonders how he‘s meant to stand up steadily again._

**[only twenty minutes to sleep]**

A cloudy night means that no stars are visible, and, already in a state of paranoia and fear, Merlin carefully does not think about it. If he did, he’d be forced to face this sense of foreboding, forced to think about every little thing, like what it might mean, and what the future might hold. 

Everything is just a reminder of the very thing he’s trying to forget. The vision he‘s trying to unsee. 

Branches rustle in the cool breeze of winter, the cold even more merciless in the night, and Merlin—without thinking—scoots closer to the (asleep? awake?) king. His shoulder burrows into Arthur’s armpit, and although they are two bodies of heat, Arthur's frozen chainmail is an overpowering, jarring shock that rattles him into stillness. The cold of the metal spreads to the depths of his bones, making his teeth clank together and his limbs shiver.

Despite it all, though, it’s—nice. Good, even. For a second he forgets anything that isn’t the absolute chill. For a second, all he knows is chainmail that _protects_ , and who that chainmail belongs to. For a brief second, he forgets to think of what may come—tomorrow, or any other time, they are all too soon—because, for a second, he lets himself bask in the fact that, at least for now, Arthur is protected. He is safe, and whole, right beside him. Pressed all along his side. 

Merlin lets out another controlled breath, squeezing his eyes shut tighter—in relief, in pain, in temporarily assuaged fear—for a good minute. When he opens them again, he tilts his head towards Arthur, sees him staring down, and makes his body turn, too. 

Arthur slowly stretches out his arm, otherwise remaining still, glancing at him with an expression too well hidden in the dark, and too complicated for Merlin to decipher in his current state of mind. 

Lifting his head, Merlin lets Arthur's arm slide under it, and then rests it back down. The chainmail is still cold enough to sting, and is more unrelentingly hard than the ground—metal over muscle over bone—but the movement brings them closer; fits them together. This close, if he turns his head a little more to the side, and a little more up, his nose almost brushes against the bare, heated skin of Arthur's neck. This close, if Arthur tilts his head just slightly downwards, his nose brushes over Merlin's hair. 

This close, Arthur fills enough of his senses to make an Arthur-less world far enough away to be insignificant and ignorable. This close, he forgets any version of Arthur that isn’t one where he’s sleeping, relaxed and safe, next to Merlin.

**[watch you breathe in]**

_“Get some sleep.” He runs his thumb back and forth over Arthur's jaw, trying to memorize the skin; trying to assure himself that it’s still warm, that his king is still alive._

_His nose and eyes sting with unshed tears, and he lets out a shaky sigh, hoping it’s enough compensation in order to keep his eyes dry._

_Arthur's head lolls, and it takes all of Merlin’s willpower not to clutch at him. He gives himself a minute, just to cup Arthur's jaw and rest his chin against Arthur's forehead, nose against bright hair, caught in firelight, and breathe him in. Five minutes later, he gently guides the golden head back, and gets to working on the fire._

_There’s nothing to do. Arthur won’t eat, and he’s got no appetite, either. The fire is roaring and he’s already collected enough wood if they’ll need more. He would’ve gotten it with magic, anyways. He would not dare to ever leave Arthur alone again, anymore._

_Looking away from him, even, was something he had to relearn on the entirety of their journey. A spike of anxiety, still, shoots through him, when Arthur is out of his line of sight. He’d made that mistake once—leaving Arthur’s side—and now Arthur was—_

_he was—_

_But no. Never again._

_The king needs his rest, and so Merlin sits next to him. Close enough to touch when reaching out, to see every detail, but not enough to disturb._

_He hasn’t slept for days, now. Tonight will likely be no different._

_Merlin clenches his jaw, willing away the relentless wave of tears, and fixes his eyes on Arthur's chest._ _He carefully avoids gazing at the red-stained chainmail, and instead watches the up and down movement of his breaths. Arthur is breathing—he is alive and breathing and_ still there _._

 _Merlin wipes his eyes, prays for just a little more time, and then pulls himself together._

**[watch you breathing out]**

Arthur falls asleep, and Merlin forgets to forget. 

He burrows closer, tighter, tries to chase the visions away by pressing his face into a solid arm, a hard shoulder. He closes his eyes and blames the cold for the tear running down his cheek. Refuses to look up, not sure he can look at Arthur's slack face—asleep—and see anything other than the vision with the red skies and bloody swords and fallen king. Not sure he can see a sleeping lover, instead of a dead one.

But then he looks up anyways, and it’s oh so much worse. Arthur is so unmoving, his face pale and cold and still in the winter night, and Merlin can’t breathe. Can’t relax or stop the onslaught of violent images bombarding his head and clawing at his sanity.

A quiet sob escapes his mouth, and the arm not trapped between his body and the earth moves, out of his control, trying to grasp at something to squeeze, something to release all his anxiety and desperation and dread into. 

It lands on Arthur's stomach, and before he can do anything else, he watches his hand move up, in time with Arthur's breath. 

Merlin flexes his hand over the armour, unable to handle all this emotion at once, and rests it back, unable to keep away. 

In its most simplest form, it’s a relief: a tangible reminder that Arthur is alive and well. It’s a direct contradiction of everything haunting him, every fear keeping him up and restless. Every breath is one more confirmation that they still have time; that Merlin can still figure out a way to save him; that he hasn’t failed; that his king, his best friend, his beloved is still there, and will be there in the next moment. With him.

Soon, Merlin's breath starts matching the rhythm in which his hand is steadily rising and falling to. His eyes never leave the spot of chainmail right under his hand, watching it with the same need as a hand gripping the edge of a cliff, until the very last moment he can bear to keep them open any longer. 

As he dozes off, lulled to sleep with Arthur's breaths, he carefully doesn’t think about tomorrow, knowing it won’t be any better. The anxiety will surely come in full force again, and it will be filled with a dozen new threats to Arthur's life. For now, however, Arthur is alive and healthy. He is close, warm in Merlin’s arms and is breathing strong and steady breaths.

For now, everything is as good as it can be; and it is enough. 

**[just one single glimpse of relief]**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this kind of all happened at 2-4 am so...hopefully it wasn't completely incoherent...
> 
> anyways, I hope you enjoyed! and feedback is always appreciated :) 
> 
> (also, a bit of a self-plug: you can find me both on [tumblr](https://crimincisminds.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/nxtstopparis) if you want)


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